Part 9 (1/2)
THE FOURTH OF JULY.
It was the anniversary of our Glorious Fourth. The evil genius who specially presides over the destinies of unoffending college boys put it into the heads of five of us to celebrate the day by an excursion by water to Nahant Beach. The morning was delightful,--the cool summer air just freshening into a steady and favoring breeze, the sun tempered in his ferocity by an occasional cloud above us, the sea calm and pleasant--and all that sort of thing, you know--just what you want on such occasions,--and we set sail from Braman's, resolved to have ”a jolly good time.” I can't describe our pa.s.sage down. It was altogether too full of fun to be written on one sheet. Suffice it to say, we laughed, and sang, and joked, and ate, and drank ('t was when we were young), and so on, all the way, and in fact I felt rather disappointed at arriving so soon as we did at our destined port. Here new pleasures awaited us, in the shape of acquaintances unexpected and unexpecting, rides on the beach, bowling, and loafing in general,--much too rich to be described here and now. But there is an end to all sport, and ours came quite too soon. The shadows had begun to lengthen considerably before we thought of starting on our return, and certain ominous indications in the heavens above us warned us, that, as our pa.s.sage homewards was not by land, further delay was unadvisable.
Dolefully we set our sail, and made for Boston Harbor. We began to feel the reaction which always follows a season of extreme joviality, and our spirits were down. Our chief wit, Tom B----, who had before kept us in a perpetual roar all the way, sat moody and desponding, and answered gruffly every question put to him; speaking only when spoken to, and then in monosyllables rarely used in polite circles. Our _other_ joker, second only to Tom, the above named, having amused us during the whole day by long yarns spun out from a varied experience and a rich imagination, betook himself to slumber, and tried to dream that he was safe home again. The rest of us performed our duties about the boat in gloomy silence, looking occasionally with some anxiety at the clouds gathering slowly over our heads, but keeping our opinions within our own b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I had no apprehension of danger, for nothing indicated a gale; in fact, the breeze was gradually deserting us. All that was to be feared was a calm, steady rain, which, visiting us at a distance of several miles from home, and late at night, promised any thing but an agreeable conclusion to our day's excursion. At last it came. First, a heavy drop, then a few more, and then a regular, straight, old-fas.h.i.+oned pour.
Our sail hung motionless, and we seemed to stand still and take it. Our companions were soon roused from their abstraction by the very unpleasant circ.u.mstances, and we hastily took counsel together.
”Uns.h.i.+p the mast,” says Tom, ”and over with your oars.”
We obeyed our captain sulkily, and soon were moving on again. We pulled away for an hour or so, drenched with the rain, which seemed to come down faster than ever, and were about as miserable and down-cast a pack of wretches as ever lived; for there is nothing like a good ducking (to use the common expression) to take the life and spirit out of a man, not to mention the other discomforts that attended our situation.
Silently we rowed, and not a sound was heard above the plas.h.i.+ng of the rain upon the surface of the sea, and the regular stroke of the oars.
”It's very strange that we don't reach old Point s.h.i.+rley,” says Tom, who had been on the look out for this landmark during the last half-hour.
”Very strange,” said we, and pulled away as before.
Thus pa.s.sed another half-hour in silent, ceaseless occupation, when, from the mere force of habit, I dipped my hand over the boat's gunwale, with the hope of cooling my blistered palm in the salt water.
Judge of my surprise, when I found my hand immersed in _thick black mud_.
”By Jove, fellows,” cried I, ”we're floored!”
There was no mistaking the fact; we were aground. At that instant the moon burst out from between the drifting clouds, and, as if in derision, threw a streak of light over our melancholy position. There we were, high and dry on a bank of mud, a scooped furrow on each side of us attesting the frantic efforts of our oarsmen to get a headway, and a long wake, ten feet in extent, marking our distance from the sea behind us. Such was our position as the moon revealed it to us. We looked dolefully in one another's faces for three minutes; then a grim smile gradually stole over Tom's expressive countenance, as he slowly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, ”Point s.h.i.+rley it is!” when the ludicrous side of the matter seemed to occur to each of us simultaneously, and we indulged ourselves with a roar of laughter,--the first since we had left Nahant.
Of course, nothing could be done under the circ.u.mstances; but we must wait patiently for the rising of the tide to float us off. So we sat there in our wet garments until the dead of night, when our boat gradually lifted herself off and we started again, and finally arrived at Braman's early in the morning.
The moral of this tale may be summed up in a single word,--TEMPERANCE.
FROM THE PAPERS OF REGINALD RATCLIFFE, ESQ.
In college I was the ”Ill.u.s.trious Lazy.” In my professional studies and avocations, I have been so hard driven, in order to make up for four idle years, that I am wasted almost to a shadow, and fears are entertained that I shall wholly vanish into thin air. My physician talks gravely about my having exhausted my nervous energy, and sends me to Ratborough, as the place of all others the most favorable for entire intellectual repose. I am living with an old aunt, Tabitha Flint, who was wont to rock me, and trot me, and wash my face, in my helpless infancy, and can hardly yet be convinced that I have outgrown such endearing a.s.siduities in the twenty-five years that have intervened. I let her pet me, so far as I find it convenient, and, indeed, farther, because I feel grateful for the kind feelings of which I am the object.
There is another personage in the household, who probably thinks that in the exuberant kindness of my aunt I have a full average of civility, without the least interest on her part. Do not for a moment imagine that I am piqued at her insulting indifference of manner towards a young man who (I beg you to believe) is not wholly without claim to a glance of approbation now and then from a lady's eye. You must not suppose I care at all about the matter. But as I have not even a book allowed me to take up my thoughts, my curiosity fixes itself strangely upon this silent, sulky, meditative little person, who takes about as much notice of me as of the figure of Father Time over the clock.
What can such a body have to think about the livelong day that is so absorbing that all one's bright thoughts, and one's most whimsical sallies, pa.s.s without notice? Should I see her once move a muscle of her very plain, doggedly inexpressive, provokingly composed phiz, I should jump up and cry, ”Bo!” with surprise.
She vanishes several hours at a time, and I hear her humming to herself, sometimes in one room, sometimes in another. I wish I knew how she amuses herself, for I find self-amus.e.m.e.nt the hardest drudgery I ever tried. I could stamp, I am so impatient of doing nothing but lounge about; I am as snappish as a chained cur, as cross as a caged bear. And while I gnaw my nails, and stretch, and yawn, I hear that contented, bee-like murmur, and now and then a light, rapid step on the stairs, or about rooms which I do not frequent. What can she find to be so busy about, the absurd little person? how can she be so happy in this dull house alone?
There is a piano, but as silent as she is. I do not see her wince, though I drum upon the keys with most ingenious discords, and sing false on purpose as loud as I can bellow. I will not ask her if she can play; she can have no ear at all, or she would box mine in self-defence.
There is somebody, by name Flora, who is looked for daily by stage-coach. ”Flory,” says my aunt, ”sings like a canary-bird, and plays a sight,”--and _at sight_ too, it seems. This Miss Flora will be found to possess a tongue, I hope, and the disposition to give it exercise. I do not know certainly that Miss Etty--By the way, what is her real name? I won't condescend to ask any question about her. But really, I wish I knew whether it is Mehitable. Perhaps Henrietta. No, no, that is too pretty a name; I shall call her _Little Ugly_.
Hark! I have two or three times heard a very musical laugh in the direction of the kitchen. Heigh-ho! How can any mortal laugh in Ratborough! Having nothing better to do, I will go and see who this very merry personage may be. I will inquire into this gay outbreak, in a land of stupidity. Hark, again!--how refres.h.i.+ng! I must and will know what caused such a gush of mirth. Irish humor, perhaps, for Norah is laughing, after her guttural fas.h.i.+on, too.--
As I popped my head into the kitchen, Little Ugly was just vanis.h.i.+ng at the opposite door. I could not make Norah tell me what Miss Etty put under her arm, as she looked over her shoulder at me, and darted out of sight. O my noisy boots! I might as well wear a bell round my neck.
Stage-wheels are rattling up the road. Now they run upon the gra.s.s before the door. I rush in undignified haste to the window. Shall I--will I--go and help this long-expected Miss Flora to alight?